


making the wrong choice (and other things that are worse in a cyclical existence)

by babybel



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Gen, Memory Alteration, Psychological Horror, Season 6B, Unhappy Ending, fuck the time lords all my homies hate the time lords, i literally don't know what else to tag this it's just kinda dark dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25908718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybel/pseuds/babybel
Summary: After his trial, the Doctor is sentenced to exile and a forced regeneration. Before that sentence can be carried out, he's given a choice: go through with it, be killed and be exiled, or just go out and do one simple task for the Time Lords, and go free. It seems like an easy choice, doesn't it? And that cloying sense of familiarity, that sense that he's made this choice before, done this all before, that's nothing. Isn't it?
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	making the wrong choice (and other things that are worse in a cyclical existence)

**Author's Note:**

> completely based on the version of season 6b in terrance dicks' short story ["save yourself"](https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/Save_Yourself_\(short_story\)), which is. like _super_ fucked up but interesting to consider

He was trying very, very hard to not think about the fact that he was about to die. There were so many other things to think about: say, the wildflowers that grew along the Petulian Crater, those were so lovely; or how nice it was to swim on a hot day, or even on a cold day; or no matter how bad this would be, at least it would be over soon. However, it’s hard for one to think of what one wants to when one needs to. 

Before he had time to think, or to not-think, he and his guard were stopped in the corridor by a Castellan. 

“Doctor,” said the fellow, “the High Council would like me to relay a message.”

He wanted to look angry, or self righteous, but he didn’t quite have it in him right then. So he managed a little, “What is it now?” and that was it. 

“They wish to give you the chance to change your sentence.” 

“Change it?” The Doctor looked up at the Castellan. “How do you mean?”

“Here are your choices.” Neither the Castellan’s face nor his voice was even attempting to hide how sorry he felt. Well, better pity than nothing at all. “One, exile to Earth without the use of temporal travel, and an executionary regeneration, hopefully into someone a little less spirited, for your good. Or, two. There’s a task the High Council needs done. If you do it, it’ll be enough to negate your sentence.” 

“Entirely?” If they weren’t lying, he wouldn’t be killed, or trapped, and without being killed he’d still be him, and without being trapped in time, he could find Zoe and Jamie and see if the kind of harm he’d put them in was forgivable or not, and after what felt like years despite the trial being not an hour ago, he had some hope back in him. 

The Castellan nodded. 

“Well,” he said, standing a little taller and feeling a little more in control of things. “Let’s hear what they want.” 

“Oh, it’s simple.” The Castellan had his hands clasped behind his back in an entirely business-like manner. “There’s a cold core fusion device set to go off in the Daverick system in just under six hours, Capital time. It was planted as part of the colonization force from the next quadrant over. The local militia on RN-014 will successfully disable it.” 

“Good thing, that.” The Doctor tried to smile, pressing the tips of his fingers together nervously. Cold core fusion devices were certainly not things that should detonate, if it could be at all helped. 

“You’re going to fix it,” the Castellan finished, “so that it still goes off.” 

The Doctor blinked, frozen. He tried to shove himself into speaking, but he felt like a rug had just been pulled from under him, and his throat was dry, and tight. Finally, he managed, “But every planet in that system is populated.”

“Yes,” the Castellan affirmed. “And its destruction is fixed in the web of time.” 

“But-” the Doctor stopped, trying to gather his thoughts. His whole body was cold, like he’d just fallen through a sheet of ice into the water beneath it. “But they’ve already fixed it, shouldn’t we- do we have to change it? Isn’t that not quite noninterference?”

“Some things have to happen, by any hands necessary.” 

“But they’ll all die,” the Doctor said quietly.

The Castellan gave a little sigh. “They’ve all already died, if you look at the entire timeline.” 

“Can’t they get someone else to do it? I can’t, I just- I couldn’t.” If he’d been in a better position, and if the people doing this were anyone but the Time Lords, he would be trying to stop them. He couldn’t, now, and the desperation of trying to cope with that helplessness was settling in. 

“I’ll inform them of your decision, then,” the Castellan said. “They can send someone else while you’re sent to Earth.” He stepped out of the way of the guard. “You can bring him through.” 

The Doctor felt himself being pulled along, and was seized with such an incredible panic. “Wait,” he called. “Wait- wait, I- you didn’t- can you just-”

“What?” The Castellan held up a hand, signalling the guard to stop. 

The Doctor tried to picture what Jamie would have to say; Jamie had always been able to answer things he himself couldn’t. He realized, after a moment of trying, that he couldn’t remember Jamie’s voice, and that was more frightening than the prospect of being killed. How was it even possible? He’d just seen Jamie not a day ago, they’d just said goodbye, but- no, he couldn’t find it anywhere in his mind. He could barely picture Jamie’s face. And that made the decision for him. “I’ll go and I’ll do it.” 

“Oh.” The Castellan didn’t sound surprised, but still seemed pleased with himself. “Alright. You can use your own ship. We’ve installed a remote-activated spacetime shift in it, so we’ll move you right to where you need to be, and bring you back. You won’t be able to fly it yourself.”

“But I will once I’ve done it?” He had to, that’s why he was doing it. He had to go back to Culloden, back to the Wheel. He would, the second this was over. 

“Of course,” answered the Castellan. “And we’ve fixed your navigation systems as well, so you’ll be able to fly it with a little more accuracy.” 

“Well.” He looked down; he couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes while agreeing to this. “That sounds fair, I think. Just let’s do it and get it over with.” 

“Good choice,” the Castellan commented. “Follow me.” 

He did. He looked down and watched the Castellan’s feet in front of him and let his vision blur out a little, feeling near faint. The only reason he agreed to it was Zoe and Jamie. That was it. Yes, it was terrible, so terrible he felt sick, but it was just one thing, and it would be over soon. He could do something like this, just once, and then be free and safe for the rest of his life. Wouldn’t it be worth it? It would be, wouldn’t it? Just one terrible thing for the whole rest of his life, him and his family all safe and all together?

The Castellan stopped, and the Doctor nearly walked into him, so numb and so in his own thoughts. 

“Here. Your ship is right here. We’ll pilot it for you from the Capital, all you have to do is repair the cold core fusion device.” The Castellan put in his code, and the door slid open. 

Seeing the TARDIS again was such an immense relief the Doctor’s breath caught in his throat. He walked up to her slowly, scared every step that it would be some sort of trick and they’d never let him actually get to her. But it wasn’t; they were keeping their word. He touched a hand to the door, and realized the paint was chipping and peeling, curling up off the wood and crumbling beneath his fingers. That couldn’t be right; that would take years of flight through the vortex that the TARDIS had never done. She hadn’t spent enough time flying for there to be this sort of damage, years of damage, all piled onto her somehow within a few hours of being in the hands of the Time Lords. 

“What’s been done to you?” he asked quietly, pulling his hand back so as not to chip the paint further. He closed his eyes and felt her energy, tampered-with and sick and tired, so, so tired. It was giving him a headache and he’d only been tuned into it for a second. He turned back to the Castellan, and if he were feeling a little more like himself he’d have given the man a proper talking to on how to take care of time ships. “What’s wrong with my ship?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it.” 

“But she’s-” The Doctor considered trying to explain it, and couldn’t find the words to sum up how cruel it was. She’d been aged, and not very kindly. 

“It’s just initial reactions to our modifications, like fixing the navigation system,” the Castellan assured him. “Your ship doesn’t take well to change, but it should fly fine. You’d better be going.” 

Right. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could leave, the sooner he could be safe, the sooner he could find Zoe and Jamie, the sooner it would all be just a story they told, like the stories of their other adventures together. He wouldn’t tell them the part about the cold core fusion device, he decided. He couldn’t.

“I’ll do that, then,” he replied. He found the TARDIS door unlocked, which felt violently wrong, and stepped inside, shutting it behind him. 

There was a little piece of the sense of solace he’d expected, mostly overshadowed by a bizarre and intense bout of deja-vu, which he fought to brush off as he went over to the console. He put his hands against it, even though he couldn’t fly it himself, and hoped it would reassure the ship. 

The centre tube spun up, dropped back down, and the TARDIS took off. 

He kept his palms pressed to the console the entire flight, and couldn’t shake the feeling that the ship was trying to tell him something despite not being able to figure out what it was. It sent shivers through him, but then again, maybe it was just the fact he was about to destroy an entire star system that was responsible for those. 

He was trying not to think about it, but it was so hard to control what he thought about, and really, what an immense loss. Six planets, each populated with advanced and endemic life. 

The ship landed, a dull thud ringing through the air. 

He went over to the door and just stood in front of it, trying to get over how quickly this was happening. Just another few minutes. Just go out, find the bloody thing, fix it, and everything will be over. 

There was a moment, briefly, where he wondered if it was really worth it, the entire Daverick system for the chance to see Jamie and Zoe again. He came to the conclusion that objectively, it wasn’t, and that he was a revoltingly selfish person. 

But there was the matter of the web of time, too, and of said web course-correcting. It was a fact that the universe tended towards certain set outcomes. So even if he hadn’t come to do what he was about to do, what was waiting for him just on the other side of the door, it would probably happen anyway, through one channel or another. A fuse would fall into just the right place accidentally. An electrical storm would come and jumpstart the device. Something to make sure the right thing happened. Anything to make it seem like it wasn’t all his fault. 

He took a breath, touched a hand to his temple, and opened the door. 

RN-014 wasn’t the local name for the planet, just its Time Lord designation, and it was a barren planet carpeted mostly by a shale-type rock. Just as promised, nestled between two nearby crags, the cold core fusion device lay, half embedded in the ground. The accuracy the Time Lords had managed to get with the TARDIS was shocking. 

He walked over to it slowly, feeling dizzy. Just this once, he told himself, and went down on his knees by the device. Just this once and never again. And he got to work. 

When the device went off, he was already safely back in the time vortex on his way to Gallifrey. 

Notoriously horrible at not thinking about things, he cast a net for something, anything, to occupy his mind instead of what he’d just done. He closed his eyes, pressed his hands over his ears, cut off external stimulation and focused just on the unsettling little mystery that had been underlying this entire atrocity. The paint on the outside of the TARDIS. The change in her psychic state, the way she seemed to have aged. The fact that despite just having said goodbye, he could neither clearly picture Jamie and Zoe’s faces nor clearly call to mind their voices, which was perhaps worse than anything.

He opened his eyes, went over to his chalkboard, and began trying to make sense of it. The first thing he could think of was a time fade; nasty, but not something the Time Lords were above using. But they didn’t want to erase Jamie and Zoe from time, they just wanted to put them back in their original places. Counterintuitive, so no. He drew a line through the words on the board. 

He considered stopping, because thinking about Jamie, about Zoe, was so acutely painful. He may have forgotten some minor details, but he still missed them, more than anything. But no, he pushed on so he wouldn't have to think about the fusion device. He was quite good at distracting himself, he reckoned, and he considered the Tardis paint. 

In theory, the Time Lords could’ve put her in an isolated bubble and altered the way she experienced time, sped it up for her and only her, aged her, but that made no sense at all. There was no reason to it, and everything the Time Lords did had reason, numbingly systematic as they were. So not that. Another line. The chalk made a sharp screech. 

The deja-vu, that was something, and it’d been so strong when he’d gone into the TARDIS. He’d remembered coming through that room, leaving that Castellan behind in it, taking off on his way to influence the election of Kaja Tor, and-

He stopped, blinking. His head spun. Kaja Tor? No, he wasn’t supposed to remember that. 

A shock ran through him. He wasn’t supposed to remember? Memories slotted back into place, unobscured for the first time in who knows how long. Walking away from his trial with a guard, meeting the Castellan, being offered a choice, a choice between execution or freedom, and when it’s put like that it’s hard to turn down. Just one task to do, a favour for the Time Lords, and then he’d be free. Last time, the favour was getting Kaja Tor elected, and he’d done it by corrupting the AI that counted the votes with a virus. The time before that, it had been representing the Time Lords at some kind of summit, making a deal that would help them cut off temporal power to other races and retain it for themselves alone. The time before that…

It went on and on and on, and the Doctor sat down on the console room floor before he could fall. This had happened before. It had all happened before. Different tasks every time, but the stock basics of it were undeniable. They’d taken his memory, just like they’d done Zoe and Jamie’s, only instead of sending him somewhere they’d put him through some kind of hideous loop, a failsafe way to get all their dirty work done, and every single time he thought it was the first time. 

The ship landed. 

He was so dizzy it was a struggle getting to his feet; once he’d figured it out, it unlocked those memories, and they swam, free and unfiled, in his mind. He couldn’t remember every single thing they’d had him do, but judging by the state of the TARDIS, this had been going on for years. Years of this, years of thinking every day was the day of his trial, his first day back on Gallifrey. No wonder he couldn’t recall perfect images of Zoe and Jamie. He hadn’t seen them in so long. 

He could barely feel his body; his hands were going numb with the shock of it, with the struggle of trying to process it. 

The ship’s doors opened, and his guard came up to the console, taking hold of his arm. 

He hadn’t had the presence of mind to fight back, and now it was too late. They were already out in the hall again, joined by the Castellan, by the time he could speak, and what he said was, “Can’t you please just let me go? Just kill me, please, just- just exile me, I-”

“You remembered again, I’m guessing?” The Castellan looked over at him thoughtfully as they walked along. 

“Again?” the Doctor echoed weakly. 

“You’ve figured it out the past six times,” the Castellan explained. “And then forgot that you’d figured it out, of course.” 

“Why are you making me do this?”

The Castellan sighed. “Convenience, mostly. I mean, say what you will about yourself but when it comes down to it you’re a very efficient agent, and no one works more efficiently than someone who thinks their job is the last hurdle between them and freedom. So, make you think it’s the first one - and the last one - every time. You’re not really affiliated with the Time Lords anymore since you went renegade, so you’re the perfect third party operative for things like these. Things we can’t be directly involved in. It’s- smart.” 

“Can’t you kill me next time, and exile me?” the Doctor begged. “Let me serve my sentence, and I’ll do it without- without even a cross word, I just-” He just couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t even say it aloud. 

“I do ask every single time,” the Castellan said. “You get the option to choose that every single time, and you’ve never picked it, not once. We’re being more than fair, really.”

“But I- but it isn’t fair, I don’t-” The Doctor couldn’t get his thoughts together enough to make an argument about informed consent, and how in no world, in no universe, was this in any way fair. “Can’t you just ask me now?”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. We have so much more for you to do.” 

If the Doctor wasn’t being pulled along by his guard, he’d have fallen still, unable to keep going. He pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to work through this, to come out with a cohesive, convincing argument. It was worthless, though; he could have the best, most articulate response to this in the universe, and the Time Lords would turn it down. There was nothing he could say. 

How many star systems like Daverick had he torn apart? How many more, if they kept putting him through this? How many years had he lost?

“I want you to execute me,” he managed. He couldn’t think with the horror of it. “Please? And drop me off on Earth with- with no way to leave, just like you want? I’ll do anything, just not this.” 

“We will,” the Castellan said, assurance heavy in his voice. “Eventually. Once you’re no longer useful to the High Council, your memory will be wiped a final time, and you’ll be sent to Earth to serve your sentence.” 

“But isn’t there anything I can do?” he pleaded, a last ditch effort that seemed so small, so futile. 

The Castellan gave him a smile that was surely meant to be encouraging. He put his codes into the terminal beside the doorway he and the guard had stopped in front of. “You can go through that door.” 

The Doctor didn’t; he was pushed through before he could choose to go on his own. 

* * *

He was trying very, very hard to not think about the fact that he was about to die. He tried to distract himself: think of nice things, come on. Putting on clothes that make you smile at the mirror, when cats bump their heads against your legs, a good Bordeaux on a warm evening, Jamie’s smile, although, now that he tried to think of it, he was having a bit of trouble picturing Jamie right now. 

His guard led him along the corridor until a Castellan met them. 

“Doctor,” the Castellan said, “the High Council would like me to relay a message.” 

“For heaven’s sake,” he muttered, because, really, he wasn’t in the mood for any messages from the High Council. They’d already sentenced him to a regeneration and to exile, what more could they possibly want? He tried not to be frightened, tried to focus on how unfair the ruling was, how horrible the Time Lords’ rules and jurisdictions, and let that make him angry. “Go on, what is it?”

“They wish to give you the chance to change your sentence,” the Castellan answered, folding his hands behind his back. 

The Doctor frowned, trying to quash the hope starting to spark up in his chest. “Change my sentence?”

“You’ve got a couple of choices.” At least the Castellan had the courtesy to look like he felt bad for the Doctor. “One, exile to Earth without the use of temporal travel, and an executionary regeneration, hopefully into someone a little less spirited, just for your own sake. Or, two. There’s a task the High Council needs done. If you do it, it’ll be enough to negate your sentence.” 

“Negate my sentence as in…” The Doctor looked up at the Castellan, still trying oh-so-hard not to get his hopes up. 

“No exile, and no regeneration. You’ll get your ship back once you finish this task, and you’ll be free to go with it wherever and whenever you wish,” the Castellan elaborated. “We’ve even fixed up the navigation systems, so you’ll be able to end up where you want to go.” 

The Doctor let out a breath, caught up in longing. With that freedom, and with the ship repaired as promised, he’d be able to go back for Jamie and for Zoe, and even if they couldn't forgive him for getting them into the trouble he had, at least he’d get to see them again. He remembered the conditions, and prompted, “You said there was a task. What is it, if you don’t mind?”

“It’s simple, more or less,” replied the Castellan. “In a lab in one of the Magellanic galaxies, a vaccine is going to be invented two centuries too early. This vaccine is set to cure the most devastating sensory virus of the millennium. What you’ve got to do is start a fire in exactly the right spot to destroy the entire building.”

The Doctor stared at him. “But- I- that’s-” He tried not to shudder, but the idea of it chilled him straight through his skin. “Isn’t it a good thing, that vaccine?”

“Oh, yes,” the Castellan assured him. “Brilliant, and so was the scientist who created it. Too brilliant. In order for the society there to progress properly, the vaccine can’t be introduced for another two hundred years. She’ll die in the fire too, the scientist.” 

“I can’t do that,” the Doctor said firmly. “I shall not do that, I just- I-”

“Noted.” The Castellan’s voice was steady, level. “I’ll prepare your ship for the exile. I hope your regeneration isn’t too painful.” He turned away. 

After a tight, panic-filled moment where his ribs felt like they were being crushed in on his hearts, the Doctor called, “Wait!”

The Castellan looked back. 

“Wait, I- you didn’t give me time to think, I just-” He stopped stammering and tried to focus. All he knew was that if he refused to set this fire, he would be killed, and just thinking of that choked him with such fear he could hardly speak, and if he agreed to set the fire, he’d be free, probably within an hour or so, and more than that, he’d be back with Jamie and Zoe in less than a day. Oh, but it wasn’t really even a choice, was it? “Just wait,” he said, because he had to at least make it look like he wouldn’t do anything to see them again. 

The Castellan did, patiently and politely. 

It would be a terrible, drastic loss of life. Having a vaccine two hundred years early would save countless, countless people. It made him sick, thinking about it. “I’ll do it,” he declared, and immediately felt so horribly guilty he could hardly breathe. “I’ll go and I’ll do it.” 

And it was alright, wasn’t it? It would be alright, once it was finished and he was free? Yes, it was terrible, so terrible it really didn’t bear thinking about, but it was the only thing between him and getting his family back, between him and leaving Gallifrey forever. 

And it was just one thing, just once. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @lesbiandonnanoble


End file.
